Chuck vs The Unsanctioned Relationship
by aardvark7734
Summary: An agent with ties to Sarah's CIA past arrives in L.A. needing help with a problem that strikes very close to her heart. Begins after 'Best Friend' in the show chronology.
1. Phoenix

_A/N: Not the typical start for a "Chuck" fanfic. Bear with me for one chapter. Also, my undying gratitude for the fabulous beta reads from the multi-talented Truthseekr and writing sensei Sharpasamarble. If something in this chapter doesn't make sense to you, it's almost certain they did their best to alert me to it and I just dropped the ball. Oh well, there's always next chapter. :)_

'_Unsanctioned Relationship' happens in an alternate universe immediately after 'Best Friend' but before 'Suburbs'. You knew 'Best Friend' was supposed to air before 'Suburbs', right?_

Chuck vs. the Unsanctioned Relationship

Chapter 1 – "Phoenix"

The smooth, wet blacktop turned into a slushy mess as the main road forked to the northeast, leaving the less well-paved secondary road in its place. Without thinking, she looked up into the rear-view mirror to make sure another vehicle, ten or eleven car lengths behind, didn't make the turn with her. Yeah, right, she chastised herself, even as her habit kept her eyes glued to the mirror. Had there ever been a car, even once? She couldn't remember.

Not surprising, she thought, after five years worth of these supply runs.

Taking note of the steadily decreasing angle of the sun, she pressed a little harder on the accelerator – it would be better to be home before dark under these conditions. Along both sides of the road, the jumbled piles of plowed snow were still a pristine and textureless white, a testament to how little auto traffic made its way along this route.

With a muffled whine, the back end of the Rover skidded to the left as the outside rear tire lost traction on the icy incline. Without hesitation, her right hand flew deftly to the 4WD control on the shifter and engaged it while she steered into the skid with measured precision. After a small chug, the SUV swung back into line without even leaving the lane. She allowed herself a smile – whatever decline her skills had suffered from disuse, her reflexes were still sharp.

Her smile was short-lived. The truth was… she didn't know what she had left. The life she now led, while appropriate for her circumstances, simply didn't test her skills in the ways they used to be tested. Begged to be tested. Her physical regimen, extensive during her time as an operative, now consisted solely of morning runs and stretches. Her improvisation skills, once formidable and clever, were now reduced to field repair of broken appliances and crafting meals from pantry dregs. And it'd been three years since she'd stopped going to the shooting range – the sense of pointlessness had just become too unbearable.

This was not what the CIA had trained her for.

* * *

"So, I'm wondering," Graham said slowly, deliberately, "if you're having some adjustment issues with your training." He looked up from his salad, his eyes betraying the concentration he was devoting to her answer.

So three months of acclimatization to the academy was all she would get before he started pressing, she thought. This also answered the question regarding the unexpected lunch invitation. She weighed her options carefully, finally selecting one that pushed the ball back in his court. "Is this about Instructor Keenan's report?" She kept the tone light, casual, matter-of-fact.

He stared at her impassively, without blinking, without a muscle moving in his face. She knew it was one of the tools he used. One designed to draw more information from those who couldn't bear the silence.

One that she was prepared to defeat.

She looked down at her own dish, moving the greens from one side to the other. It was important to keep time moving, to keep his stare from gaining power over her as the seconds ticked by. She could push lettuce back and forth until the cafeteria emptied, if that's what it took. After what must have been twenty five seconds of silence, Graham resumed as if there had been no pause at all.

"He's mentioned that you've been uncharacteristically… average in his class. Since it's traditionally one of the most popular classes taught here, and I have some personal stake in your success, I thought I'd give you a chance for an explanation," he said finally.

Keeping her face tilted down towards her food, she let her eyes drift up to measure his mood. There was no overt threat yet, leaving room to maneuver. "I suppose I'm not doing as well as I could because I don't really understand the value of the skills he's promoting, sir." She added the honorific as a totem, an offering of respect that might ward off hidden ire and buy her more leeway.

Graham's mouth formed a tight smile, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "'Adaptation and Improvisation' is a mandatory course and no less important than the firearms and martial arts training that you've excelled in."

Her eyes widened at his casual disclosure and she looked up, although she immediately hated herself for the tell. Too late to disguise it, she started talking in an attempt to distract him. "I didn't realize you were keeping such close track of my performance." She tacked on a carefully practiced smile that was part cosmetic surgery and part seduction school.

"Don't try to play me." His voice chilled her to the bone and her smile faltered. She looked down at her salad and put on her best cowed expression. It didn't require much effort. He accepted her gesture and continued, "Look, you need to absorb and integrate what Keenan is trying to teach you. It's been proven in the field and it _will_ – at some point in your career – save your life."

"I guess," she began. "It's just that I can't imagine that impaling someone with a chopstick," she waved the chopsticks in her hand around for emphasis, "or knocking them senseless with a laptop computer is something I'm going to do when I've got a SIG in my hands." She used her most earnest expression, the one that had gotten her past so many uncomfortable moments in her life both before and after her CIA indoctrination.

Having re-established the roles of their mentoring relationship, Graham softened his tone. "Many of your opponents will have been in the field for years before you meet them. Some will have grown sloppy and careless. You won't have to worry about them. It's the savvy veterans and cold-school killers you'll need to be concerned with. That shiny pistol won't be any good to you if it isn't in your hands the second or two before you're dead. In those cases you'll have to make do with what's in reach, plus the only two advantages you can always count on: Speed and surprise."

She gave him an accepting look, trying not to reflect any energy back to him and prolong the sermon. From the moment he brought it up it was a _fait accompli_. She had no real choice in the matter. This was just the game they played; she tested him and he showed her the bounds. There was no confusion, however, over whose game it was. Without him as her sponsor, she was nothing. Worse, she'd be gone.

Graham finally let his gaze drop momentarily, letting out a breathy sigh. "Look, I'm sorry it has been harder on you than other recruits. Given your family history and the environment that you grew up in…" He paused, searching for the right words before letting silence end the sentiment. "For your sake – for both our sakes – you have to be outstanding in every category." He leaned in a little closer. "Do you understand?"

She didn't reply, concentrating instead on balancing her chopsticks on the edge of her plate as she'd been taught, one crossed over the other in an aesthetically pleasing fashion.

* * *

Ahead, two wooden posts appeared on the right, one topped with an orange stripe of paint and tilted askew from the other. A familiar and friendly sight, they marked the turnoff to the gravel road she always took. The road that led her home.

Home. It was the center of her existence now, the anchor point of her life. She grimaced at the word "anchor". It implied being weighed down. Tethered. Captive. But that wasn't the case, right? She was here because she wanted to be here. He was here.

This was their dream life_._

She smiled at the sense of satisfaction that phrase still evoked after five years of marriage. Try as she might, however, she couldn't avoid the small asterisk that followed, along with the footnote explaining that nothing is ever completely perfect, not even in dreams.

She reached over to the wheel with her right hand, touching the bulge in her driving glove, beneath which she knew the two rings lay. She could feel them rotate around her finger as she massaged the spot, bringing her both comfort and reassurance. Some things didn't change with time, she thought warmly.

_But some things did_, the agent voice in her head said. She bit her lip. She'd deal with those feelings – no, _they_ would deal with them together, and only when she was sure of what she wanted. Right now she only knew she was restless and guilt-ridden. Not enough to act on. Not nearly enough to risk unraveling the life they'd sacrificed so much for.

Above the road, directly in front of her, the trees made a recognizable shape, a backwards 'K' that she knew meant the drive was nearly over. Good news, since there was probably only about a half hour of light left. The sun was already beginning to sneak behind the nearby trees – soon their accumulated shadows would accelerate the onset of night.

He'd be waiting at the door after hearing the car approach – ready to help with the shopping bags, to give her a hug, a kiss, and a genuine smile that she would return in kind. Even with the growing malaise she felt there was no denying the simple joy in moments like these. They were the crown jewels of the life she lived. But were they enough to keep her sidelined here? Was it selfish of her to enjoy this life while squandering the investment the CIA… _that Graham_ had made in her? Could she really stay in this life forever when she was capable of so much more?

She peered through the darkening woods in the distance. She should be able to see the lights from the house soon. He'd have them on, knowing she was coming back late. Their glow would be visible from the end of the driveway, twinkling through the ice-covered branches in a rainbow of reds, blues and greens.

* * *

The light bar changed from red to green and she catapulted herself through the doorway, dashing the four short steps to the first wall. _Time to do her thing_. Dressed entirely in black Lycra, she looked every bit the ninja she was reputed to be. High on her chest, under a cloth flap were 10 small darts, each with a retractable barb tip that would penetrate the skin and make the dart irremovable without the proper tool. All of her classmate defenders in this scenario used a pistol to deploy them. She, on the other hand, applied them directly.

It had become her favorite training exercise. From her record of success, it was fair to say that she owned this event. It was the reason she was granted the sole aggressor role and why the exercise had transformed from an assault scenario to a defense scenario. Originally, the solitary aggressor was intended to fail, but she broke the mold by beating the defenders consistently. The test administrators had tried to compensate for her by increasing the defenders' advantages, but eventually their more complicated schemes became too difficult for the other students to run, and it didn't matter because she won anyway. At some point they gave up and just went with the flow. It wasn't the first time she'd prevailed against the academy.

She leapt up to grab a support joist on the overhanging roof and swung herself over the edge and on top of it, walking swiftly and with cat-like balance over to a point directly above the entry door. Lying down across the narrow overhang, she reached down and knocked three times on the door. She then retracted and flipped onto her back, pulling two darts from her bandolier while leaning just far enough out to keep watch on the doorway below. After several seconds the door opened and a gun barrel protruded a few inches beyond the door frame, followed by arms, shoulders and finally a rapidly swiveling head. Too bad its owner wasn't looking up.

Swinging her legs over her head and shoving off with her arms, she somersaulted off the roof and dropped right in front of the agent-in-training, her feet taking down his arms and his pistol while her hand jammed a dart directly into his deltoid muscle. As he yelped in shock and pain she landed gracefully on the balls of her feet, grabbing his gun arm and twisting it behind his back, stripping the pistol and turning him simultaneously to face the door he'd come through. Over his shoulder, she could see the second guard, his pistol extended, frantically trying to take a shot around his partner. _Better luck next time_.

She bent down and drove the guard forward like a battering ram through the doorway. The second guard's eyes got wide and his pistol wavered as he tried to decide what to do. But it was too late – she shoved both guards together, spinning out into a low camel that put her inside the room and beside the second guard in two spins. She jammed the other dart into that guard's calf muscle and ended her move standing against the far wall out of camera view.

It had only taken four seconds to breach the entry, a second ahead of her best. This was shaping up to be a record setting run.

She watched the two student guards, sitting and kneeling in the center of the room, nursing their wounds. When they looked up at her, she pointed at the surveillance camera over her head and grinned through her mask. The message was simple: _Smile. You're dead_.

* * *

In her reverie she nearly missed the driveway turn – but she recovered at the last moment and wrenched the wheel hard over to the right. As the SUV skidded around, she steered left and guided the vehicle onto the incline, goosing the gas to get some forward momentum and control the slip. Behind her, she heard the clink of bottles bouncing off each other in the shopping bags and the muffled thud of something large falling over. Ah well, at least they made it most of the way. Ahead, she looked to where the house was, just becoming visible through the birch trees. She noticed that the lights weren't on yet. That was odd. He probably just hadn't noticed the time, but if so it would be a first. She rounded the last clump of trees at the corner of the property, the last major obstacle which blocked direct view of the house.

As she pulled the Rover to a stop in front of the house, she peered through the passenger window to look at the front door. It was still closed. Hadn't he heard her pull up? She noted the lights were out on the first floor – he was probably still ensconced in his office chair upstairs, singularly focused on some unsolvable problem. She beeped the horn once, then killed the engine and popped the hatch release. Getting out of the car she looked up to the second level windows – sure enough, the light was on in the study. She kept her eyes on the window for a few seconds as she walked to the back hatch, reaching for the handle by feel. But he didn't appear at the window to wave at her and signal he'd be down. Hadn't he heard the horn? Maybe he was listening to music on his iPod, but he didn't usually use it while he worked unless she was cleaning. _Another anomaly_.

She stopped her normal routine suddenly, as if an internal circuit breaker had tripped. The accumulated series of abnormal events had risen beyond the level of curious and was waking up her dormant agent persona. She'd just burned through too many rationalizations, too many explanations. _Get focused_. And while it was still probable that all of this would be resolved in a benign fashion she was beginning to feel some actual concern. _Think ahead_. She extracted the first grocery bag from the webbing and was about to grab a second one when she changed her mind and left it – she might need her other arm free. For _what_ she could not consciously explain. _Stay alert_. She shifted the bag to her left arm and took the house key out of her jacket pocket as she stepped carefully up the steps to the front door. Looking straight at the door as she unlocked it and entered, she attuned her peripheral vision to the front side windows. She tensed her leg muscles as she started forward. If anything moved she'd be ready to react.

She entered the foyer and stood just inside the doorway. The house was completely quiet, the first floor devoid of light. Out of habit, she reached out to flip the wall switch but stopped herself almost immediately. _Better to keep it dark__ for now_. She slid to the right, keeping herself from being silhouetted against the dwindling twilight outside the door.

"Sweetie?" she called out in a raised voice. She listened intently for any sound that might indicate a response. Hopefully, that would be the noise of a rolling chair wheeling around upstairs followed by the soft padding of sneakers along the hall to the stairway. Instead there was only silence. Her eyes darted from the hall to the doorway on her right as she inched forward on the balls of her feet, her free arm extended for balance. At the door she stopped and stole a quick glance into the kitchen. It looked just like she'd left it, as far as she could tell. She took one step in, still scanning the hallway, when a thought suddenly occurred to her.

Maybe he was injured. Unconscious. Lying upstairs, his life hanging by a thread while she stalked shadows down here. That would explain it all, right? An invisible hand gripped her stomach and twisted… and she caved, abandoning caution as she hurriedly moved into the kitchen and set the bag and keys down on the island counter. But even as she turned to rush upstairs her agent voice whispered something to her urgently – something important about the kitchen.

She turned to the opposite counter, her eyes darting across it in the half-darkness. There – the flour container. In a frenzied rush she grabbed it and wrenched open the lid with too much force. It flew out of her hand and clattered across the counter before falling with a noisy clang to the floor. Without pausing she jammed her hand down into the flour, grasping through the powder for what she knew was there. _There you are_, she thought, pulling out the large plastic bag and tearing its locking seal open.

She was reaching into the bag when the flour container exploded_._

With a sharp bang, the container crumpled, throwing flour violently into the air in a billowing white cloud and instantly blinding her. By reflex, she dropped to her knees and lost her balance, falling backwards against the corner of the island with a heavy thud and then sideways onto the floor. She dropped the bag and sat up quickly, putting her back against the island as several more incoming rounds slammed into the cabinet and wall, throwing splinters and ceramic shards in all directions. Alternately scraping her hands on her jeans and swiping at her face, she desperately tried to get the flour out of her stinging eyes so she could see again. When, at last, she could hold one open, she reached down and felt for the discarded freezer bag. From it, she extracted the Colt M1911, shaking the weapon as she brought it up to remove the coating of flour. She cranked back the slide and flipped off the safety. _Okay_, she thought, coughing and spitting the flour out of her lungs, _those__aren't shadows_.

She realized she was panting, and her arms were shaking. _Adrenaline_, her agent voice said. She willed them to stay still and took several controlled, deep breaths. _Come on, get it together_, the voice continued. _The light just turned green_. Her breath hitched and her jaw clenched involuntarily, her expression hardening. _Time to do __your__ thing_.

She blinked her eyes and took stock of the scenario before her. The flour "smokescreen" had probably saved her life – her poorly executed attempt to evade had succeeded, but only through blind luck. Without the kitchen island being where it was, she'd have been in the open, flat on her back and unable to see. Instead, she had momentary cover. The shooter had to be in the living room, shooting through the kitchen door with a narrow angle to her position, which explained the small dispersion of hits. Another lucky break – had he been in the foyer hallway she'd be dead now. _Amateur_.

She blinked a few more times in rapid succession. It was hard to tell in the growing darkness, but she thought she'd regained enough of her eyesight to risk a peek. Drawing the gun up in front of her, she threw her head quickly out beyond the edge of the island to peek back towards the hallway. Nothing. She extended a bit further, trying to reach the angle where she could see into the living room. In the dim light she could just make out an unfamiliar outline. As she resolved the shape she jerked her head back just in time to miss the two rounds that blasted the cabinet behind her, punching two ragged holes and showering her with wood fragments. Without thinking she moved right back into the line of fire and fired off two quick rounds of suppression fire. Through the smoke she saw the figure dart right, deeper into the living room. _6 rounds left_.

_You drove him back, but now he knows you're__ armed_, her agent voice informed her. She kicked herself – not the smartest play she could have made.

Sitting back again against the island, she replayed what she'd just seen in her mind. He was short, thin, light-complexioned. Wearing what looked like a dark grey raincoat and… something about his head… his _ear_. He was wearing a very visible earwig – a radio transceiver – in his left ear. This told her two important things: One, he wasn't a top operative of a western democracy. They were better funded and used better equipment. Good news for her, since she was clearly not performing up to her own standards. Two, and infinitely more important, _he was not working alone_. Her agent voice screamed at her again, and she cursed herself for being so far behind the moment. Angrily reaching for her cell phone, she paused for just a second while struggling to remember the quick dial sequence. A fast glance at the doorway told her the hall was still clear, but it was a momentary respite. _He'd be coming soon_.

She stared at the phone in her hand while she waited for the call to complete. It – and the hand holding it – was shaking again. Not too violently yet, but enough that she had to grab her wrist to read the screen. In the back of her mind she made a note to stick with two-handed stances – she wasn't going to be hitting anything one-handed in the near future. Finally, a tinny voice came from the cell and she put it up to her ear.

"Watch desk. Identification?"

She drew a blank. _What the hell was her operative I.D.?_ Wait, she thought. _Don'__t be stupid.__Y__ou know this_. "Sp-sparrow." Yes, that was it. "My codename is 'Brass Sparrow'. Watch desk, did you get that?" She waited for a response, strained her ears for a sound. And it came, but it wasn't from the cell.

Without hesitation she spun around the corner of the island and fired two more blasts through the doorway, the second splintering the far door frame. She saw the figure retreat, once more, towards the living room. He'd made another mistake, but how long would her luck hold out? _4 rounds left_. She'd have to take him out to get more ammo, the spare clips were in the living room and the upstairs linen closet. _Great_. She heard another noise and started to raise the Colt when she realized what it was.

"…copy Brass Sparrow? I need your station code and alert level." The voice intoned.

"Watch desk, I need… I am engaged with one or more hostiles…" She nearly screamed it into the phone. " I need – "

"Brass Sparrow," the scratchy voice interrupted, "I need your station code and alert level."

'Station code!? _It's my home, dammit_,' she wanted to say. But she knew that wouldn't help. She wracked her brain to remember this arbitrary bit of trivia. _Think… think…_Wait, it was someone's birthday, she… _Got it_. "Watch desk, This is station 11-8. Repeat, station one-one-eight. I am alert… Indigo. Do you copy? _Indigo_." It had all come in a rush, like opening a packed closet door in her mind and having the contents spill out all at once.

"One moment, Sparrow… verifying."

She was still congratulating herself when she saw the fading light from outside being blocked by something in the gap between the kitchen door and the jam, three feet in front of her. _Shit_. It was the second member of the team, trying to outflank her. Thank God for worn out insulation, she thought, as she raised the pistol and fired three shots through the kitchen door about 4 feet above the landing. Almost immediately, she heard the grunt of pain and the sound of the body hitting the metal stairway and tumbling down the steps.

Then, before she'd even heard the new sound, or thought the next thought, she spun around to her right, kicked off with her legs and pointed her gun back towards the foyer doorway. There he was – rushing forward in what seemed like slow-motion, charging from the foyer towards her position with his pistol leading, firing – the tip flashing in time to a rhythmic popping noise. It was a classic misdirection play. A squeeze._Reckless_.

Sliding across the flour-covered floor on her back, she lined up and fired once, hitting him in the shoulder. The impact of the 45 caliber round spun him sideways and he fell to one knee, crashing into the sink cabinet. So focused was she, so automatic did her movements come to her that she didn't even notice when the incoming round creased her own shoulder, throwing up a puff of blood vapor. She lined up on his head and pulled the trigger again.

Nothing happened.

With rising panic she looked at her weapon. The breech was open, the slide retracted – she was _out of ammo_. She looked over at the other agent, his face twisted in pain but the rage in his stare was inescapable. He knew he was dead, she had the shot. He let out a muffled wail of pain as he gripped his shoulder with his other hand, expecting the end to come at any second. When it didn't he took in her expression and followed her extended arms to the Colt, its exposed barrel a dead giveaway. The understanding coming to him, his anguished grimace became a grim smile. He started to turn towards her, bringing his gun arm up despite the obviously agonizing pain in his shoulder.

She had to do something _right now_. She dropped the pistol and leaned forward, the sharp pain from her own shoulder taking the air from her lungs in a startled gasp. She pushed through it, rising to one knee and crawling ahead to close the distance to him. Her eyes darted around her as she dragged herself along, both hands reaching out for balance as she attempted to rise to her feet. Something brushed her right fingertips and she looked down – it was… the flour container lid, metal, with a handle on top. _Speed and Surprise. It's all you'll have_. She grabbed the handle firmly.

The operative had twisted his body sideways in order to get his gun arm high enough to fire – it was waving wildly as he moaned in pain. She could see the open end of the barrel facing her as she closed the last two feet.

With a desperate grunt she heaved forward, swinging the lid as hard as she could at his gun hand. Just as she made contact the gun fired and she felt a sharp tug as the bullet ripped through one edge of the lid before caroming off the ceiling molding. The gun flew from the agent's hand and bounced onto the floor as he screamed in pain. Without missing a beat, she rose up on one arm and backhanded him across the face with the lid, its torn edge scraping off a good bit of skin. He fell backwards onto the floor.

She crawled over him in a fury, raised the lid over her head and bashed him in the face with it several more times with all the strength she had left.

When he stopped moving, the house was silent again.

She looked down at the man's body, what was left of his face, on the kitchen floor in front of her. The growing circle of blood under his head was subsuming the spatter halo from her violent assault. She fell back on her behind ungracefully and let the flour lid drop to the floor. Mercifully, the agent within her felt no need to play back the last several seconds of what she'd just done. The man had been her age, maybe even a little older. One of the 'sloppy and careless,' as Graham had once put it. She looked down at the lid and a slow realization came over her:

_Graham __had been__ right_. This stuff really _could_ save your life. She snorted gently. Instructor Keenan would have been proud.

After a few moments spent gathering herself, she retrieved her pistol and her assailant's. She tucked the Colt into her waistband behind her back, it would be useful once she'd retrieved more ammo from the living room. She checked the clip on the operative's Beretta. Five in the clip, one in the chamber. Carefully, delicately, she extracted the operative's earpiece from his battered head and held it close to her ear. She heard nothing but a steady, low hissing sound punctuated with occasional bursts of static.

While trying to decide whether to insert the dead agent's earwig into her own ear she was startled to hear a small voice say something. Partially deafened from the last gunshot, she could just barely make out what the voice was saying.

"…dispatched to you, Sparrow. ETA is 16:27 Zulu. That's 21 minutes from now. Do you copy? Two-one-minutes."

It wasn't the earwig, it was her cell phone. She stared at it, laying in the drift of flour on the floor. From what she'd just heard, it sounded like a fast react team in a helo was on its way from the nearest operation center. Twenty one minutes? It had to be Hartford. And it would probably get here too late to have any effect. She didn't have twenty-one minutes before she…

An image suddenly leaped into her mind, shattering her trance and forcing her upright. She dropped the earwig and grabbed the phone.

"Watch desk… Brass Sparrow. Did I hear correctly a team has been dispatched?"

"Roger, Sparrow – ECARS flash heavy inbound, ETA 16:27 Zulu, about 20 minutes from now."

"I copy…" she paused for a moment, trying to formulate the right words. "Watch desk, there's also… my asset is on site..." She'd wanted to say 'be careful not to hurt him,' but she knew there was no way to communicate that sentiment.

"Roger that, Sparrow. Will pass on to ECARS additional friendly on the ground."

"Thank you." It was all she could think to say.

As quietly as she could she tried to get to her feet. The sharp pain in her shoulder flared again and she dropped to one knee – the free fingers of her right hand reached around her weapon to touch the source of the pain. It was just a nick – and not on her gun side. Her hair was wet near the wound, she noticed. Luckily, the wound wasn't bleeding excessively. It could wait. She needed more ammo. Without it she'd have to resort to throwing the gun at any remaining intruders and then rely on her hand-to-hand skills, which were even more rusty than her weapon handling. That would simply not do.

_Get __your head in the game and get __moving_. That's two down, she thought. How many more were there? One? Maybe two? _One to guard the room, one to guard the asset_. She imagined him up there, being held on the floor or restrained to a chair, what would he be thinking? It was a stupid question. She already knew the answer, he'd be worried about her. He would've heard the shots. And now he'd be suffering the silence, wondering if she was lying down here bleeding, maybe dying.

She had to do something. She took a deep breath, put a hand on the counter to steady herself and called out in a loud, bellowing voice:

"Honey… I'm home!"

* * *

"Honey… I'm home!" She called out loudly as she tossed her purse and keys onto the hallway table.

There was no response. _Hmm_, she thought, _what was he __up to__ now?_ The times between government projects were the most dangerous for him – well, actually, for _them_. He got bored and started working on 'special' projects. The last time, he'd cracked the copy protection on a new type of consumer video disc just so he could store the movies on his Unix-based file server. An achievement which would've been arguably acceptable if he hadn't decided to share his code with the world. Fortunately for them, another individual in Iceland did the same thing with much greater fanfare and his original hack was quietly forgotten.

As she started up the stairs, she heard the music stop suddenly and the chair roll back on its casters. She'd been detected.

A scruffy head bearing a large, beaming smile appeared over the top landing rail, looking down at her as she climbed. "Hey! I didn't hear you… did you just get home?"

"Yep. Just now." She gave him a quirked eyebrow and a smile. "Did you remember to take the towels out of the dryer when it went off?" She reached out a hand as she went by the open laundry closet – the dryer was cold. She paused and stared at him. "Should I bother to open it?"

"Uh… no. Sorry." He made a small grimace which faded back to a smile as she approached. He moved out to the side landing to get ready for the ritual he knew was coming next.

"Well, did you at least remember to eat something for lunch?" she asked, already knowing the answer when he winced and looked down at his feet. She sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

At that, he looked at her and spread his arms wide, giving her the sad puppy-dog eyes he knew she was defenseless against. Her smile widening, she stepped forward and collapsed into his arms, squeezing him so tightly he grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. But he made no complaint.

"Hi," he said softly, "I missed you."

"Hi back," she sighed, "I _always_ miss you."

When they finally separated, she gave him a short peck that he released late, expecting it to last a bit longer. She chuckled at him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

He smiled and bounced his eyebrows up and down, giving her a leer that was definitely not related to his stomach.

"Food. I'm talking about _food_." She smirked and shook her head.

Flashing a frown of disappointment, he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and thought about the last time he'd stopped for a bite. "Yeah. I should probably eat something."

She turned around and put her arm around his waist, pulling him towards the stairs. "C'mon then, you can help me unload the Rover and then I'll whip together some dinner. What do you think?"

"Sure." As they passed the dryer, he noticed her eyes shift to it briefly. He winced. "You know, I realize that I disappoint you when I forget about some of the stuff you ask me to do, and I'm so sorry about that."

She looked straight ahead, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"But you know… if it was important, _really_ important, I'd remember. You know that, don't you?" He tilted his head down and looked at her intently, trying to express how serious he was. He stopped descending on the next to last step and held her waist firmly to keep her there too.

Trapped, she turned to face him, a tired but understanding look on her face.

"Yeah. I know."

* * *

The stairway was empty – and so was the landing. This was a surprise, and a worrisome one. She was hoping to take one agent out before she had to cope with breaching the bedroom. It was one thing to locate and hit a single target with a friendly in the room, but quite an uptick on the difficulty scale to take down two targets in the same room with a friendly. Too often that friendly got caught in the crossfire. That could _not_ happen here.

"Sweetie? You didn't mention you were having guests over," she called out in a loud voice. "It was kind of short notice, but I managed to take care of everyone down here. Is anyone up there hungry? I'm coming up with some hors d'oeuvres for all of you."

She negotiated the last few steps up while checking her watch – the react team wouldn't be here for another fourteen minutes. That was at least ten minutes longer than she was willing to wait. In front of the bedroom door, she leaned her ear carefully against it for several seconds, listening intently for movement that could help her pin down their locations. Hearing nothing, she drew herself back, took two deep breaths and kicked the door in. She dove in low and rolled, coming up on one knee rapidly to shoot the first thing that moved and wasn't her husband. Her eyes scanned the room with lightning speed – darting from one possible cover to the next, her weapon barely trailing behind. But there was no one there.

At the end of the room, the window stood open, curtains billowing inward in the chilling breeze. After a brief glance at the snow-covered garage roof below, she reached up and grabbed the frame, sliding it shut. No one had gone out that way.

She scanned the furnishings and the carpet for blood – for any sign that he'd been injured or wounded in a struggle. But there was nothing there. She sat down heavily on the bed to think and the realization hit her square in the forehead.

He'd almost certainly been long gone by the time she'd gotten home.

There were only two ways out of this part of the house, and she'd just ruled one of them out. The other would have taken them right through the gun battle – no way they'd have risked that. She'd have noticed, in any case. The two operatives she'd killed had simply been the rear guard, left to slow down or eliminate any pursuit. Their worst agents, and they'd almost gotten her anyway. She shook her head in disgust. She'd failed to protect him and now he was gone. She'd have to do better if she was going to get him back.

The assertion startled her. It came from nowhere but it was the perfectly natural decision to make. Of course she had to be the one to get him. They'd taken him from _her_.

_Keep it together_. She sniffed and blinked rapidly, trying to hold her emotions in check. Trying to keep her head in the moment. If he'd known where he was going to be taken, he'd have tried to leave a clue somehow. They'd been through this drill before. This was important and he remembered the _important_ things. Didn't he?

She looked over at the vanity, moving across each item slowly, looking for something out of place. Something different. Something only a person who lived there every day would notice. Then she saw it – his valet was open. It was never open, it only contained his dress-up jewelry, and they pretty much never went out anymore. She looked at the items inside. There was something missing. She looked from one item to the next, trying to figure out what made the collection look incomplete. Cuff links, tie clips… they were all still here. Wait. His _watch_! She picked up the valet and turned it upside down on the vanity, dumping everything out. No watch.

_Please… please_, she prayed fervently, taking out her phone and scrolling her contacts list to the special name, "Waldo M. Wheredford". She couldn't repeat the joke today, instead selecting the entry as quickly as she could manage it. Her phone screen changed to a map that centered on her position. But as the relayed satellite telemetry from the tracking watch began to arrive from the network, the map zoomed out and jumped north and west of her position. And it was moving like a bat out of hell. She looked at the target data –Velocity 564 mph, altitude 24,000 ft! Her heart sank in her chest. He was clearly on a jet, heading west.

Gone.

Struggling to hold back the feeling of despair, she noted the time and synced it with the aircraft's location and vector. She'd be able to find this flight and figure out where they were taking him. She dialed the operator and got a number for Bradley airport. It was one of many calls she was going to have to make in a hurry. Before he was truly gone. Before she lost him forever.

* * *

Ten minutes later she got off the phone with the Interim Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, James F. Gower. Tasking secured, the mission hers – and final favors exhausted. She put aside her misgivings at the massive price she'd paid to secure what she needed to happen – what had to happen.

"Thank you, Graham," she said under her breath, "for everything." Including, she thought, this final favor that Gower had granted in his memory. She closed the cell phone with a soft click.

In the distance she heard the sound of helicopter blades – the ECARS team arriving, at last. A day late and a dollar short, she thought to herself. She looked at the mess on the vanity she'd made from dumping the valet out. The perfect symbolism for what the day had brought to their lives. From the picture of peaceful domesticity to a scene of total devastation. From relative obscurity to a calamity of national proportions. She had to find him, if for no other reason so that they could share a laugh about the whole thing – about the improbability of it all.

Five years. It had been five whole years of nothing. Then, _boom_. The end of their world in less than a day. She was sure he'd find it a real gut-buster. They'd laugh and laugh until both of them were gasping for breath. She grinned at the scene in her mind. Then something struck her hand and she looked down to see what it was.

It was a tear.

They were rolling down her face, although she hadn't even realized she was crying. She looked up at the mirror and was shocked at her appearance. Covered in flour and blood, tears and mascara streaking her powdered cheeks she looked like some kind of demented clown. She reached up with her left arm, then jerked back momentarily with a hiss. She'd forgotten about the wound on her shoulder. She started up again, pushing through the pain to remove her hair clip. Freed from the restraint, her long chestnut-brown hair fell around her shoulders. She threw the clip at the vanity, where it bounced around until it came to rest near a framed photo next to her hairbrush. Her eyes settled on the picture, and when she reached out to grab a tissue she picked it up as well.

It was their favorite wedding photo. Not an official wedding picture, those were in an album somewhere. This was the one his sister took as they got into the limo. She stared at it without expression, focused on the two of them caught in a genuine moment. It was why they loved this photo. It captured them at the pinnacle of their triumph – the moment they celebrated beating the government, the agency and the odds. They'd pitted their love and their determination against the world and had emerged at the end still together and unbroken. She smiled and wiped away another tear. It had been perfect. In most ways it still was perfect. The thing was, the steep price they'd paid was meant to cover forever. She looked around the darkened room, its emptiness accentuated by pops and creaks from the house as it cooled in the absence of the sun.

Maybe you didn't get forever. Maybe you only got five years.

She tried to recall how she felt that day, the girl in the photo. She looked so sure of herself, so expectant of good things ahead. And his face, so satisfied, so overjoyed. Crazy in love with her despite her moods, the job, her endless rejections. Just seeing his face in the photo made her burst into a grin. He was always able to do that to her.

She moved her finger along the photo to the limo and then to the back window, the writing done in white shoe polish. "JUST MARRIED!" it screamed in 6 inch high lettering. Then, even bigger below it, "ROBERT & KATHLEEN". She stared at the names as memories of their time together flashed by her.

She would get him back, no matter what. He would be counting on her to come for him, to never stop until he was free or she was dead. He was right to carry that belief. She would do it not only because of what they had together but because as much as they had both pretended it was no longer meaningful, he was still her… asset. It was her job to protect him with her life.

Afterward… they'd talk. She'd tell him how she had second thoughts about abandoning her career and explain what she'd had to promise Gower in order to keep him safe. He'd understand. He always did. It was one of the things she loved about h-

She closed her eyes. His absence stung her keenly, like a stab wound through the heart. She would get him back because she loved him, the other reasons be damned. But if she got him back, would she ever be able to leave him again?

She stared at the photo one last time, at the two of them. Then she slid the backing out of the frame and removed the photograph, laying it on the bed. Standing, she walked to the closet and took her overnight down from the shelf. Unzipping it onto the bed, she tucked the photo into the stretch pocket. Then, hurriedly, she pulled open the drawers of her dresser, throwing clothing, cosmetics and toiletries into the suitcase. As she finished she heard the sound of the front door being kicked in by the ECARS team. It was time to go.

At the door, she turned one last time to look over the room that held so many memories for her. She felt the pressure building behind her eyes and she glanced quickly from side to side in an attempt to stave off the tears.

_It will get easier_, the agent voice reassured her.

"No, it won't," she said, and turned away.

* * *

Kate stood outside her house, suitcase beside her, while the ECARS team "secured" the property. She had her cell out and was making the last important call she needed to make today, to an Air Force Lieutenant General at the DNI by the name of Diane Beckman. The plane carrying Robbie was heading to Los Angeles, and so was she. According to Gower, if she was to have a fighting chance to find Robbie in time – to find him alive – she needed to use the unique resource Beckman had at her disposal in that city. What it was he wouldn't say. Not much of a choice, really. She no longer knew any of the identities of agency assets allocated in L.A anyway. She'd have to trust Gower and that meant going through Beckman.

She checked her phone for the time. Gower had told her to wait fifteen minutes while he paved the way with Beckman, and then to call her direct at the number he provided. Nearly twenty had passed – that was long enough. "Fine," she said under her breath as she dialed the number, "No day like today, no stone unturned, no offer of help refu-" Her eyes widened at the realization of what she'd just said. She stopped dialing and let the phone dangle in her hand. She hadn't uttered those words for at least five years, since before… since she was married. It was her old mantra, the one she'd repeated endlessly on her "Sherman's march" up the CIA ladder. Yet there it was again.

After a few moments of reflection, she finished dialing the number and put the cell to her ear. Almost immediately, the phone began to ring at the other end. Considering the low display of proficiency she put on today, she was going to need all the help she could get. If Beckman could supply that help, she was going to find she had a new friend at the CIA.

Finally, there was a faint click, and a muted buzz as the crypto unit clamped the call.

"Beckman, secure."

_A/N: Ok, __now that you're either confused or ticked off, it's the perfect time to review! Don't worry, I've got an economy sized bottle of Prozac and am being watched every two hours. Oh, and btw, if you're at all curious about who I thought might play these characters if 'Unsanctioned Relationship' were actually an episode of the show, I've put some actor thumbnails on my profile page. I'll update it incrementally as new characters join the plot._


	2. New Arrivals

_A/N: As always, my undying gratitude for the fabulous beta reads from the multi-talented Truthseekr. If something in this chapter doesn't work for you, it's almost certain that she did her best to alert me to it and I just went brain dead. Fortunately, there's always next chapter. :)_

'_Unsanctioned Relationship' happens in an alternate universe immediately after 'Best Friend' but before 'Suburbs'. You knew 'Best Friend' was supposed to air before 'Suburbs', right?_

Chuck vs. the Unsanctioned Relationship

Chapter 2 – "New Arrivals"

It was like a sneeze that started to come and then, for no particular reason, stopped of its own accord. And it was just as frustrating.

Chuck looked down at his feet, leaning over in his chair to keep his head and heart even with each other while he forced himself to breathe evenly. After a few seconds, the nausea and dizziness passed but he continued his steady breathing, building up a reserve of willpower for the next attempt. He knew this probably qualified as masochism, but he couldn't help it. His curiosity and urge to experiment were just too strong. So he looked at it again.

The moment his eyes registered the shape of the weathered, twenty-year old Mac computer, the flash began anew. A low hum in his brain became rapidly louder, his vision telescoped in towards the center, he felt the pressure in his forehead build as his eyes began to cross and flutter and then… it stopped. Just as if someone had yanked the power cord out of a TV.

It was driving him crazy. There was more to the flash, he could sense it. Information that was being blocked, cut off in mid-stream. He couldn't actually see what lay beyond the point where the flash ended, but he had an impression, a _feeling_, that there was a large, empty room filled with strange, flickering shadows.

Beyond that, he had no idea what any of it meant. Was some criminal organization involved in Apple's past? Or was it just some scandalous secret that the government kept around in case it needed to blackmail Steve Jobs? Chuck smirked. Either way, he had to know. He tilted his head down and strove to breathe in and out, steeling himself for another try. If he kept at it, maybe one of these attempts he could –

"Bartowski!" Big Mike's voice boomed out from directly to his left.

"Big Mike!" Chuck jumped up, startled. "Uh… how… can… I… help you?"

"What in the name of all that's holy is that thing?" Big Mike asked, looking at the ancient machine sitting on the Nerd Herd counter. _Great_, Chuck thought, his fearless leader was in another foul mood. Lately that's all there seemed to be with him, bad moods and even worse moods.

"It's an authentic, 1986 vintage Macintosh 512K," Chuck said. He started to turn towards the computer but caught himself at the last second and jerked his head back to face Big Mike, "I'm just… one of our customers brings it in every few months and I blow the dust out of it and give it back to her."

Big Mike considered this information for a few seconds, then leaned in towards Chuck, lowering his voice. "And we charge her how much for that?"

"Ninety-nine ninety-five, Big Kahuna. The minimum one-hour rate for 15 minutes work." Chuck said, sprouting a fake smile and hoping his boss would just let it go.

The big man stared at the old computer with a stern expression, his occasional, involuntary facial tics broadcasting his struggle to keep the inner bile contained. "Fine," he said finally. He swiveled his head around. "Where are the two idiot brothers? And why are you holding down the fort _and_ working on that piece of junk?"

Chuck found it sad that he knew exactly to whom Big Mike was referring. He gulped. "I sent Jeff and Lester back to the cage to take care of the backlog," he said quickly. "It's okay though, there's not much traffic up here this time of day. I got it, really." He smiled again at his boss but the face staring back at him remained mirthless and dour. The manager finally turned with a low grunt and marched off towards the back of the store. Chuck's body sagged as he exhaled a sigh of relief. Whatever was going on with Big Mike, he hoped it would be over soon. Handling an angry and attentive boss was way too stressful, not to mention incompatible with having a second job as a spy.

"He's going to find out the secret, Chuck."

Chuck snapped his head around, eyes wide, to find Morgan leaning on the counter behind him. "Wh-what?"

"You know…_the__ secret_," Morgan scolded in a conspiratorial whisper.

Chuck scrunched his brows with rising concern. "What secret, Morgan!?"

"You know, that you do three times the work of anyone else in this place. That you're basically the glue that holds the whole team together." Morgan said intertwining his fingers together. "That we'd come apart without you," Morgan said earnestly, letting his hands fall to his sides.

Chuck let out the breath he'd been holding. "That's not true, Morgan, I'm sure that you guys would… be…" Chuck started humbly, when a thought suddenly occurred to him and he reached over to grab the clipboard hanging behind the counter. He scanned the work log raptly – if Big Mike had gone off to find "Jeffster" in the cage and they weren't there, he'd need to have a good answer for where they _actually_ were when the big man got back. A few moments of silence slipped by while he turned the pages of the log, and Chuck assumed his little bearded friend had wandered off when he abruptly spoke again.

"Stop the presses! Who is that?" Morgan exclaimed.

Chuck smiled and chuckled as he flipped log pages. Déjà vu. He knew it was closing on lunch time and it was Sarah's turn to bring food. In his mind he pictured her coming towards them, a vision in orange and white, her blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze (where was the breeze coming from? Eh, it didn't matter). A smile forming on her lips as her eyes met his. He sighed. Morgan had undoubtedly spotted her coming over and was recreating the moment when she'd first appeared at the Buy More. Well, the least he could do was play along.

"Vicki Vale, vickety-vickety-Vicky Vale--" he started to rap in a falsetto voice. He looked up, smiling, at Morgan. But Morgan wasn't smiling.

"No, Chuck," he said, staring off to his left. "I'd say it was more like Sydney Bristow."

His smile fading, Chuck stood up and turned to greet the woman approaching the counter. When he saw her face he heard the low hum and felt the pressure building quickly in his forehead as the flash took control.

This time it didn't stop.

* * *

Gwendolyn Sternham was on the equipment floor getting a highly animated status report from one of the field techs when a soft trill alerted her to an incoming text. She took the cell phone out of her vest pocket and checked the display:

'OLMP5M'

Her face fell and a familiar sense of foreboding began to take hold. She mouthed "I'll be back" to the tech and hurried out the door towards her office. As she navigated the long hallway she glanced down at the message's time tag, wondering if the time shown represented when the message was sent or when it was received. With the generally crappy state of wireless service around the lab, it wouldn't surprise her if she had considerably less than five minutes to get to her office. She hurried her pace.

Waving her access card in front of the red laser dot on the panel, she waited impatiently for the audible 'click' of the latch and then pushed through the door towards her desk. She set the phone down on the polished oak surface and took off her lab coat, hanging it on the corner rack behind her. Then, very deliberately, she straightened her blouse calmly and slowly sat down, trying her best to prepare herself.

What could this be about?It was an unscheduled call, which made her skin itch. Past occurrences had proven unpleasant, to say the least. She made a mental checklist of items in her most recent reports, but nothing seemed sufficiently attention-getting to warrant this unplanned conversation. In her mind she replayed the last few voice calls they'd had. Had she forgotten to find out on something for him? Perhaps he wanted to follow up on something? After half a minute of wracking her brain she came up empty. There just wasn't anything to remember.

But this kind of thing was distressingly normal for Zeus. He had the singular ability to lull you into a false sense of security only to blast you when your defenses were sleeping. It's probably how he'd gotten to the position of authority he held. Not that Gwen knew where that was exactly, but she had the impression he swung a pretty big stick. At least, when he said things would happen, they did.

What an apt name, "Zeus," she thought. Who better to call down lightning bolts on your head? She grinned at the cartoon image she saw in her mind.

Her cell rang.

She took a deep breath and picked it up, noting the time. Two and a half minutes since the text arrived. "G here," she answered, making a mental note to divide all future time estimates in half. The phone earpiece emitted a short hissing noise, then a faint sing-song tone that faded away slowly, artifacts of the encryption hardware. She waited for the electronically-altered voice that she knew all too well.

"Gwendolyn," the voice said with false warmth.

"Sir," Gwen greeted. "How are you? I'm surprised by your call."

"That's understandable, but I wouldn't worry." There was a short pause that Gwen filled by scratching her cheek absently. "I have a new task for you, one that you're not necessarily going to like." She winced. The call was going true to form. "I'm sending someone to you, he should arrive in the next couple of days." Gwen's mind raced. Was she getting a new researcher? A new boss?

"I see," she said slowly. "Can I ask…"

"He's a very special talent that we've… 'liberated' from his indentured servitude to the U.S. government." Zeus continued, "We need him to work on a specific, short-burn project for us and that requires nestling him in a location that can provide both support and structure for his effort. Your facility is the perfect location for that to happen, particularly since you'll be there to ensure it."

Gwen swallowed and sorted through the many things she wanted to say. It was crucial to choose the right tone. "Your confidence in me is appreciated, as always. How will this affect the other ongoing projects we have here, particularly my own…"

"This project supersedes all current priorities," Zeus said without any ambiguity.

"I see." There was a dull roar in her head as his declaration sunk in.

"I'll be sending a data file over to you shortly. It contains everything you need to know about the project our new resident will be working on. And, G…" he paused for effect, "…he's going to be reluctant to take on this work. You will have to _persuade_ him to do so, and within the time constraints I've outlined in the file. We may not be able to… maintain his services indefinitely," Zeus finished cryptically.

Gwen's eyes rolled and she grimaced as she contemplated the possible meaning behind Zeus's veiled statement. She was also painfully aware of the domino effect this would have on every other project on her schedule, each overrun pushing the following project further and further away. Uncomfortable with the lengthening vacuum in the conversation, she popped a question off her mental list. "Sir, assuming this individual is in a related field to my own, am I likely to recognize him, or him me?" When there was no immediate answer, she decided Zeus might not have taken the hint about what she really wanted to know, and pressed ahead. "What's his name?"

There was a short pause before Zeus spoke the name without inflection. "Robert Ramirez." A face appeared in Gwen's mind to match the name. Her eyes unfocused and she drifted slightly as she recalled the last time she'd encountered Mr. Ramirez.

"I remember him," she said.

"I thought you might," Zeus added. There was another pause. "One last thing. In order to be fair to you, I need to make absolutely clear you're aware of the stakes involved here. Aware in a way you can understand personally."

As Zeus punctuated the consequences of failure with steadily increasing vehemence, Gwen flinched and drooped lower and lower as if each one was a hammer blow landing squarely on her head.

_

* * *

A small, metallic bird._

_A ninja dressed in black._

_A personnel file brimming with awards, commendations and reprimands._

_A younger version of the woman standing with former CIA Director Graham._

_A photo of the woman embracing another man._

_A small house on a wooded hill._

_A small metallic bird._

Chuck gasped as the flash began to wane. He had both hands flat on the counter in front of him and hung his head below the edge, hiding his face from Morgan and the woman who stood in front of him. If he could just stall a few more seconds the dizziness would stop and he'd be able to get his breathing back under control.

"Are you okay?" both Morgan and the woman said, simultaneously. "Chuck?" Morgan followed up, leaning closer and with elevated concern in his voice.

"Yeah, sorry," Chuck spoke down at the floor, "I think I must be coming down with something or maybe I tried to stand up too fast… Just got a little light-headed there."

"Well, hang tight, buddy. I'll go back to the break room and grab some water and aspirin, and maybe see if I can't round up one of the Herd to help up here," Morgan added.

"Just the aspirin, Morgan. I've got this," Chuck called out. Morgan nodded as he headed off, looking over his shoulder at the woman waiting patiently in front of the counter. She appraised him coolly, but as he moved away her eyes switched back to the lead Nerd Herder.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again, her voice softer, more sympathetic than before. Chuck took a deep breath and looked up. The woman in front of him was mid-thirties, with long, auburn hair and stunning presence. She bore a look of mild concern for his condition. And damn, she _did_ look a lot like the woman from 'Alias', making the fact that she was a CIA agent doubly intriguing. Chuck blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get both of them to focus on the same spot.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Sorry about that. How can I help you?"

"I'm glad," she said, returning his smile with a dazzling one of her own. Chuck felt he actually moved back a half inch from the force of it. He blinked again, surprised. Only one other person he knew could do that to him. Make that _triply_ intriguing, he thought. "I'm actually looking for someone who works here. His name is 'John Casey?'" Chuck's eyes widened slightly as she said the name. The woman kept her gaze locked on Chuck, her smile seemingly unfazed by his reaction.

"Uh, yeah… Case-- John works here, but… I don't know if he's scheduled for this shift. Let me check for you," Chuck said, his fake smile growing wider and more exaggerated as he reached down for the schedule clipboard. This was puzzling. Why would a CIA agent want to talk with Casey? There was nothing in the flash that spoke to any connection they had previously.

The lack of plausible explanations began to feed his doubts and Chuck debated with himself over what to do next. Should he continue investigating the mysterious woman on his own? Or should he call for backup? Finally, he clenched his teeth and sighed. He knew what he had to do.

With both hands safely hidden behind the counter, he reached over and pressed the alert button on his watch.

* * *

The alert screen on the bank of monitors to Casey's left pulsed angrily red even as it pinpointed the source of the signal as the Nerd Herd service desk. He reached up to stop the audible alarm.

"Is there a problem, Major?" Beckman asked, her face growing ridiculously large on the display screen as she leaned towards her webcam. Now _that's_ frightening, Casey thought.

"One moment, General," he said, turning away from Beckman's monstrous visage to look at the target tracker. The signal wasn't moving. He pulled up the video feed from the Buy More cameras and switched to coverage of the desk. There was Chuck, sitting calmly behind the counter flipping through the pages on a clipboard. It didn't look like a particularly threatening situation. The moron probably just set the alarm off by accident. Still, with Beckman watching, it paid to be cautious. Casey pulled up his own watch and hit the signal button. After a few seconds a breathy voice emitted from his earwig.

"Yeah, Casey, I'm already on it," said the other agent on 'Chuck' duty. It sounded like she was walking briskly or running, he could hear wind noise over the watch mic.

"I've got eyes on the asset, it doesn't look like he's in any imminent danger. Should I head over?" Casey asked.

"No," Sarah told him. "I'm almost there. I'll call if I need back up."

"Roger that." Casey said. He turned back to the big screen.

"We think it's a false alarm, General. But Walker is on her way to assess the situation."

"Very well." Beckman settled back in her chair and looked down at her desk momentarily as she read the next briefing topic. When she looked back up at Casey she had the steely-cold stare and tight frown that presaged the arrival of an unpleasant order. Casey braced himself. "There's something else we need to discuss, something that's of grave importance to the agency and its continued operation of the Intersect. Something I need your help with… John."

Casey's apprehension spiked at Beckman's use of his first name. She only did that rarely and for its calculated effect. She used it to hint at the possibility of an understanding between them, beyond the rank. A promise of personal favors exchanged for mutual benefit. Whatever she was leading up to, it was big. "Of course, General. You can count on me, as always."

"Since Director Graham's unfortunate demise, the joint operation of the Human Intersect project by the NSA and CIA has fallen predominantly to me, under the auspices of the DNI," Beckman continued. "However, since I am also the NSA director, it has not gone totally unnoticed that this arrangement may lead to certain… efficiencies that work in favor of our agency. While I've largely been able to invoke Agent Walker's participation as evidence that this remains a bilateral effort, recent events have rendered that insufficient." She paused, giving Casey time to digest her meaning.

"Go on, General," Casey said.

"The new interim DCI, James Gower, has apparently decided to make a case out of this issue, and is pushing for increased CIA oversight in Intersect operations. What I can assure you of is that this is only part of Gower's agenda and that long term it will amount to the marginalization of NSA influence at the DNI in favor of the CIA. This is something I cannot allow." Beckman made the vow with such strength of conviction that Casey actually felt pity for the new DCI.

"How can I help you, General?" Casey asked. He knew there was inter-agency squabbling, there always was. Hell, before Walker, he'd pretty much written off all CIA operatives as potential targets, nothing more. But he still didn't understand what Beckman wanted from him.

"A few days ago a strategic NSA asset was forcibly removed from his home. The group responsible and the reason for his abduction are still unknown, but the identities of the dead operatives left at the scene lead us to strongly suspect Fulcrum involvement. Since the asset's handler provided the intel that allowed us to locate him, and because that handler is CIA, Gower has managed to get committee approval for CIA to have priority access to the Human Intersect during the rescue operation. And…" Beckman added with clear distaste, "…thereby creating the opportunity to demonstrate that other agencies can operate Team Bartowski directly."

Casey nodded. Inside, he smiled. He got it now – Beckman was losing her exclusive control of Team Bartowski, and with it the sole credit for its success. He knew her influence and power had grown substantially during his tenure with Operation 'Chuck'. After all, not all two-star generals got to sip Cosmo's with Condoleezza Rice. It made him ponder just how far she'd risen while riding on the back of his team. Several seconds went by, during which he waited for Beckman to resume the briefing. When nothing seemed forthcoming, he spoke up. "I still don't see…" he began.

"The handler, an Agent O'Brien, will be making contact with you shortly," Beckman interrupted. She leaned closer to the camera again, her face filling the screen. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Major. Under no circumstances is she to prove invaluable in the recapture of the asset. That credit must go to you, and consequently to the NSA." Casey noticed Beckman's deliberate omission of herself in that chain. "It is not enough to hope this is the outcome. You must ensure that it is. Do you understand?"

Casey did, and his temples throbbed with the implications. He pondered them carefully as the General awaited his answer. Something occurred to him. Through gritted teeth he asked, "What about Walker?" The question hung in the air while Casey and his superior locked stares, one looking for an angle, the other strengthening his footing, neither willing to give ground. Finally, in an unspoken effort toward détente, Beckman sat back in her chair and continued in a more subdued tone.

"It would be best if she was not a critical factor in the outcome. Every point she scores is a point we can't use. However, since she is part of the existing team, CIA or no, it is less important one way or the other. In any case, she can't know any of this. And, of course, neither can Bartowski."

Beckman paused while Casey silently fumed, his chiseled jaw tightening to keep his rage within. Inside, a furious debate ensued over what to say or whether to say anything at all.

"I'll be calling a general briefing once the handler arrives," she said at last. "Until then?" Beckman reached over to switch off the comm but before she could reach it, Casey interjected. He just couldn't leave it there.

"General…" he started, considering his next words as best he could, "It has been my experience that working at cross purposes to your team is a good way to lose their trust and get everyone killed. Assuming this operation has been and will continue to be valuable in the future, is this necessarily the best course of action?" There. Casey had gotten it out. It wasn't much but it was all he could come up with. He clenched his jaw and waited for the storm.

Beckman leaned forward again, a fearsome scowl on her face. Her first few words were quiet, but then they rapidly escalated in volume until she was nearly yelling. "Major, that is a risk we are going to have to take. You, Major, are going to have to figure out how to make it work. The mission I have assigned to you is larger than you or your team." She leaned even closer to the camera, her face threatening to exceed the bounds of the large screen display. Casey's eyes bulged as Beckman's similarity to "the great and powerful Oz" overtook him. "Do you understand your orders, SOLDIER?"

Casey stood and came to attention without conscious thought. "Yes, ma'am," he said, staring straight ahead. Beckman glared at him for a few seconds, then clicked off the comm.

His face burning, Casey slowly sank back into his chair with a low growl. In sudden remembrance, he turned to look at the surveillance feed from the Buy More. Bartowski was still talking to some woman at the Nerd Herd desk in no apparent danger, with Walker several aisles away observing intently. The situation appeared to be under control. He turned back to the table and pulled his chair forward.

Elbows out, he placed both fists against his throbbing temples and squeezed inward, closing his eyes. This mission was going to be a steaming pile of horse manure. Of this, he was certain. But orders were orders. He exhaled loudly, and leaned over to type on the keyboard attached to the console next to him. He brought up the restricted access network and keyed in his password, triggering the biometric eye scan. When it finished he selected the 'Joint Intelligence Database-SEARCH' function, and tabbed over to the 'Search terms' field.

Calmly and precisely, he typed in 'O'Brien, Agent, CIA, Female' and hit the Enter key.

* * *

Kate waited by the Nerd Herd counter while Chuck dealt with another customer. Every so often he'd look over to her and smile and despite her growing impatience she'd smile back. It amused her that he could do that to her, she only knew one other person who… Her smile faded as she closed off the memory before it could take hold. There was no point in going there now. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind. _No day like today…_ she thought to herself, starting up her mantra to regain focus.

"So, Chuck…" she said, looking down at his name badge as the other customer left, "Is John Casey going to be back sometime today? Or am I just spinning my wheels here?" Chuck looked over at her with such a genuinely apologetic face that she instantly regretted adding the 'tude to her question.

"I'm so, so sorry. I paged him ten minutes ago, he should be back any moment from his break. Really."

Kate looked into his deep brown eyes and tentative, fragile smile and forgot what she was going to say. Instead, she smiled back again and mumbled "Okay." Inside her head she recoiled immediately. _Okay_? Where did that come from? What the hell was going on here? _G__et it together__ O'Brien__._ With a short huff of frustration she started to tell Chuck she'd come back later but before she could get the first word out he turned away to greet someone else.

"Hey, Sarah," Chuck called out with visible relief, "I didn't know if you were going to show up." Kate saw that Chuck's eyes seemed to be overloading his greeting with additional meaning. Then, as if he realized she was watching him closely, he added, "You know, for lunch I mean." Kate turned to focus on the newcomer.

The blonde woman strode towards them, svelte and stunning in a simple orange tank top and white jeans. She wore a pleasant smile on her face and moved with a casual gait – by all intents a friend (perhaps a girlfriend?) stopping by with lunch. But Kate looked closer and saw the feline balance, the sinuous grace, the effortless poise. The hardness in her eyes that belied the smile. When the woman turned her gaze in Kate's direction her senses tingled.

She was being sized up.

Scrambling to alert mode, Kate tensed her muscles and rolled onto the balls of her feet. She let her right hand drift down slowly to the hem of her blouse, ready to lift and extract the Beretta if necessary. Feigning polite disinterest, she adopted a shallow smile and looked around abstractedly, using the opportunity to identify nearby fall back positions. When she finally settled on staring past Chuck and towards the back of the store, she noticed in her peripheral vision that the woman had reached the counter.

"Hi Chuck," Sarah said in an affectionate tone. Kate pretended not to notice as Sarah set the lunch bag down, reached across the counter and pulled Chuck to her by his tie for a short but tender kiss. Definitely _girl_-friend, Kate noted sardonically. While she didn't glance over to confirm it, she had the distinct impression that Sarah had peeked over Chuck's shoulder at her just as their lips had pressed together. And that some of this overt display was intended for her benefit – a fairly simple message: _Hands off_.

Kate relaxed slightly. Maybe she'd misinterpreted the woman's intentions as professional when they might be something else, something simpler. A girlfriend protecting her guy, perhaps?

After a few seconds, Kate cleared her throat pointedly, and the couple parted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Chuck slide slowly back across the counter looking quite disoriented. Kate coughed sharply to cover her laugh, bringing her hand up to obscure her grin. This seemed to wake Chuck up a bit, and she sensed him turn towards her. She counted seconds, awaiting the imminent introduction.

"Uh… Sarah, this is… I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your name." Kate turned towards his voice and smiled.

"It's Kate," she said taking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Chuck." She turned next to Sarah, extending her hand and seeing Sarah's face direct and up close for the first time. "Nice to meet you…" Kate began, when Sarah smiled broadly, a blinding, mesmerizing smile that clicked over tumblers in Kate's brain and unlocked a memory stored there. A memory that cascaded out like an undammed river through her consciousness even as she struggled to finish her sentence.

_Oh_…

"Sarah," Sarah finished for her, laughing politely but still retaining the hard edge in her eyes. "Are you dropping off or picking up?" Kate heard the subtext of interrogation in Sarah's statement but let it go as she searched Sarah's face for important details. Those azure blue eyes, that roundish nose, the short lateral incisors. She looked back into Sarah's eyes but saw no trace of recognition yet. Kate felt like a deer in the headlights. "N-Neither," she managed to blurt out.

_My_…

"Sarah," Chuck began, reaching over to cover Sarah's hand on the counter, "Sarah and I are…" he faltered, drawing Sarah to look over at him in amusement. Chuck returned her gaze questioningly. "We're…" he seemed to be struggling to find the right word, his face contorting into increasingly more pained expressions. Finally, Sarah stepped in to save him.

"Moving in together." Sarah stated quickly, turning back to face Kate. Kate registered Chuck's double-take off Sarah's announcement but let that go too. It was too hard to think above the roaring in her ears.

…_God_.

Suddenly aware it was her turn to speak, she forced a weak smile and said the first thing that came to her. "I'm sure you two will be quite happy together." And in the immediate after-echo of her statement she realized, to her chagrin, why it sounded so familiar. Inside, she winced. But it was too late to take it back.

She watched as Sarah's smile faltered, her eyes widening as Kate's words sparked her own moment of recognition.

* * *

It was the summer of 1999, and Kate had been in the field four years.

She and her partner, Bill Demers, had been asked back to Langley to speak as part of an intra-agency seminar called, 'Threats in the New Millennia'. They were to be part of the Q&A segment of the presentation, ready to offer up stories from the field. Well, at least the ones that carried a low enough classification to be repeated in front of this audience, Kate thought.

The seminar coordinator, Jeffrey Donovan, was the head of the Digital Systems and Networks branch, and had specifically requested their participation. Kate was pretty sure this had everything to do with their efforts in helping the DSN penetrate the Turkish military communication network, although the tasks they performed would probably not be defined as "technical". More like classic 'wet work.' She snorted quietly. In any event it wasn't the kind of operation she was going to be talking about at a seminar. Her eyes drifted over to the podium, where Donovan was coming to a conclusion.

"So it is this hybrid methodology, using forces comprised of specialty analysts and field operatives working in close proximity, that has proven wildly successful in achieving some objectives that I wish we could talk about today," Donovan teased, drawing laughter from the crowd, "because they are genuinely eye-popping." He glanced over at Kate and raised an eyebrow. Kate nodded and turned to Bill.

"You ready?" she asked him.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Sugar Pea," he replied. Kate rolled her eyes. After four years of trying she'd been unable to stop Bill from using an endless series of cutesy-sounding pet names when referring to her. At least he had the sense not to use them when others were in earshot.

"Without further ado, I'd like to introduce Agents Demers and O'Brien. They've been part of the prototype program for over a year now and will try to answer any questions you may have regarding their experiences therein." Donovan motioned to Kate and Bill, and they stood from the side table and moved up to the podium. While Kate usually took the lead whenever they walked together, she deliberately held up to allow Bill to pass her. It was a move he did not fail to notice and understand. Public speaking was not her strong suit. She was really all about actions, not words.

With one ear open for the 'softball' questions Bill was fielding, Kate did a long, slow sweep over the audience. Not a bad turnout, really. The hall was mostly full, although probably a good third of them were just looking for a distraction to get away from their regular jobs. Most were desk jockeys, putting in their hours to grab a weekly paycheck. To pass the time she started counting the faces that weren't paying attention to what Bill was saying, but were instead engaged in conversation with someone next to them or focused intently on a laptop screen or even in one case, apparently sleeping. In a startling moment, her eyes locked on a familiar face – a face staring directly at her with unblinking intensity.

It was Graham.

She froze, the sound of Bill's voice fading further and further away like she was being submerged under water. A stream of thoughts vied for dominance at the forefront of her mind as she stared at him, transfixed. She remembered the last time she'd seen him; her disappointment at the unfulfilling conclusion of their relationship. She remembered her last visit to the academy, when she'd impulsively dropped in on him and had been politely, but firmly, turned away by his receptionist. As if she was just another business associate. _Kate__. _As if there was no special relationship between them. _Kate_? She remembered…

"Kate?" Bill was facing her, prompting her for a response. She broke from her trance and turned to him, a blank expression on her face. "Do you want to explain how we went about circumventing the first tier security for target 'Alpha'?" She blinked a couple of times and then, rallying, she switched on the big smile. Even from this distance she could feel the predominantly male crowd perk up. It was good to start with something she could rely on.

"Sorry about that," she apologized buoyantly, charm cranked to eleven. Starting slowly, she began to dole out her anecdote, taking care to weave bits of seduction technique in amongst her simple gestures and gaining confidence as she saw their effect. She made small, self-deprecating jokes and she complimented the audience for their interest in the seminar. She folded embellishments into her mannerisms; flipping her hair, arching her back, using her eyes and her lips in ways she knew produced a favorable reaction. These tricks meant her words would not have to stand alone. Because words had never been strong enough to make a difference in her life. Only actions had ever seemed to matter.

The room got quieter as more and more eyes turned towards the podium. When it finally got so quiet she could hear the soft buzz of vibrating cell phones, she knew she had them.

As Kate finished recounting the story she thanked everyone for listening and looked towards Bill to give him 'back the floor'. The crowd broke into warm and enthusiastic applause, the largest response so far at the seminar. He grinned and raised an eyebrow, obviously needling her about the less subtle aspects of her performance. She smirked in response and turned back towards the audience as he took the next question.

Aware of the many appreciative stares from the crowd, she kept a pleased expression on her face as she allowed her gaze to drift over to where she last saw Graham sitting. Had he, too, enjoyed her performance? She found him there, but he was no longer staring back. Instead, he looked askance, listening intently as the person beside him whispered in his ear. Somewhat miffed, Kate turned her focus on his companion.

She was young, blonde and – she saw as the woman turned to look at her – startlingly pretty. _Really_ young, Kate amended, maybe not even twenty yet. She was immaculately dressed; her makeup expertly applied. Stunning. The kind of packaging that usually meant graduation from the 'Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel' course, or 'Seduction School' as it was commonly called, although to be through it already at her age would be unprecedented.

As she watched, the woman reached up and put her hand on Graham's arm before leaning over again to whisper. Kate's breath caught and her muscles tensed as Graham's eyes snapped down to the hand on his sleeve. She expected him to correct this breach of public protocol at any moment. When second after second passed and he let the hand stay, Kate knew.

She was Graham's new girl.

The blonde's eyes flicked to Kate as she whispered and then back to Graham. His stayed locked on nothing in particular but it didn't matter. Kate could tell they were talking about her. When Graham's eyes finally sought her out she turned away, her feelings in disarray. Whatever satisfaction she'd felt from her earlier manipulation of the crowd dissipated completely within her anxiety over the pair's scrutiny. Had her performance been nothing but a demonstration for his new prospect? Was she just an older, less refined example for Graham to use as a benchmark? One whose quirks and shortcomings could be analyzed and corrected in this newer, blonder incarnation?

Looking out at the young woman, her periodic glances sharp as scalpel cuts, she couldn't help feeling like last year's model, looking worn and dated as the shiny, new replacement was wheeled onto the show room floor. _ She's prettier_, Kate thought, her self-image teetering. _With __that hair and those eyes__, s__he could go places if she didn't blow it._ Kate chewed her lip. She couldn't help but resent the woman, if not for all the previous reasons than certainly for her youth. She had in front of her the years that Kate often wished she had back.

When the panel ended, small groups of people came to the front to ask questions. Over time, the panel members drifted apart as they were pulled into separate conversations. Kate tried to be polite, but she wasn't really up for it. The people who came to her wanted more of the Kate from the podium, smiling, teasing, funny. But after what she'd witnessed with Graham and his new charge, she had little energy to manufacture that persona. As the conversations lost energy, they all drifted away, except for two. The last two people in the entire auditorium she wanted to see.

"Hello, sir," Kate greeted, channeling a diplomat's formal style and manner. "It's good to see you again."

"Kate," Graham replied, "yes it is." Kate squelched her surprise at his informality and reached out her hand. Graham grasped it in both of his and held it, his mask of impassivity slipping for a brief moment to reveal what seemed like genuine pleasure. _This is__ new_, she thought. When he finally let go, Kate very deliberately glanced over at the blonde standing slightly behind him, hoping to lead Graham into an introduction.

The woman had been inching up steadily, her eyes catching every nuance of Kate's interaction with her old mentor. Graham's overly warm handshake had drawn particularly rapt attention. Like a shark sensing minute vibrations from her prey, Kate felt the small waves of possessiveness emanating from the younger woman as she attempted to inject herself into the reunion. She was feeling threatened, Kate realized. It was a weakness that could be exploited and Kate knew just how to do it.

When Graham didn't take the hint, she forced the issue. "Hello," she said, turning to the woman and extending her hand, "Kate O'Brien." The blonde paused for a very obvious second before displaying a manufactured smile and taking Kate's hand.

"Sarah Walker. Nice to meet you. Agent Graham has told me so much about you."

"Really?" Kate questioned, glancing back at Graham. She then shifted back to take a long, close look at her successor. Sarah Walker was a tall woman, maybe an inch taller than Kate. Lithe, but finely toned – an athlete. She had beautiful blue eyes, a roundish nose, a fair complexion and… an unusual smile. Short lateral incisors, Kate thought. Interesting. It made her seem a little buck-toothed, but the overall effect was actually quite captivating.

"When he's mentioned you, that is." Sarah narrowed her eyes, a challenge issued.

Kate grinned. G_ame on_. "Well, I'm sure he hasn't told you everything." She looked at Graham, then let her eyes drop and forced herself to blush. After two seconds, she looked up just in time to see Sarah's eyes snap to Graham and back. "And I'm sure what he's told you was highly exaggerated. I really owe _everything_ to him."

Sarah's expression turned wary. "Oh?" she prompted, her voice rising slightly.

"Absolutely," Kate continued evenly. "Without his generous 'hands on'…" she snapped a faux abashed look towards Graham, "…assistance in my training I'm not sure I would've even graduated from the Academy," she professed, all-too-innocently. One of Sarah's eyebrows had begun to raise, time to deliver the clincher. "Agent Graham is probably too modest to mention it, but I'm certain he's the guiding light for _many_ young women at the Farm." She finished with a saccharine smile that elicited a slight furrowing of Sarah's brow and a clenched jaw. _Still __feel like __the teacher's pet?_ Kate stole a glance at Graham. He looked like he was about to strangle her.

Graham cleared his throat. "Sarah has been threatening your record times in many of the challenge scenarios," he stated. "I think even your 'Assault' record may no longer be unassailable." Ah, a shift to the attack, Kate thought. She glanced over at Sarah, gloating proudly behind Graham's defense. "She's even acing Professor Keenan's 'Adaptation and Improvisation' class. You remember that one, don't you, Kate?"

"Indeed I do, sir," Kate riposted, "it was the closest thing to a high school Home Economics class that I encountered while I was at the Academy. Lots of non-traditional uses for pots, pans and mops," she mocked. "My hat's off to you, Sarah. But to be fair, you'd probably already had a lot more experience than I in wielding these types of implements." Kate smiled at Sarah again, a gleam in her eye.

"You know," Sarah began indignantly, "I think we saw some non-traditional uses of your own, a short while ago," she said, her hackles raised. "I mean, I get that your speech needed help, but did you really need to use every cheap seduction trick in the book? Honestly, at one point I thought you were going to crawl out into the audience on your knees and…"

"Sarah!" Graham cut her off, turning back to Kate with an infuriated expression. He might have been trying to head off the eruption but it was too late. Kate stared back at Sarah with fangs and claws fully extended.

"Well, I can easily see why Agent Graham chose _you_ to personally prepare for Sparrow School," Kate said with piercing sarcasm. "I think you fit the profile perfectly." She didn't bother with the smile this time. Graham's face fell and the smug expression Sarah wore was replaced with one of surprise and then fury. Kate wasn't surprised at their reactions, really. She'd pretty much just called Sarah a prostitute and Graham her pimp.

"I believe we're running late for another appointment," Graham said abruptly, his voice adopting a familiar, officious tone. "Kate, it's been good to see you again." He nodded at her and turned towards Sarah, giving her a look which clearly meant "follow me now." Sarah maintained her poisonous stare at Kate even as she moved to trail Graham's retreating form.

"Good to see you as well, sir," Kate called out. "It was nice to meet _both_ of you," she added, returning Sarah's glare with its own, cold reflection. Just as Sarah finally looked away, Kate felt possessed to say one last thing, something that just jumped into her head. "I'm sure you two will be quite happy together." Kate noticed Sarah's step hitch slightly at this remark before continuing. Then both she and Graham were gone.

For several minutes, Kate stood and stared at the door they'd left through. Replaying the whole conversation in her mind.

"That could've gone better," Bill said, having drifted up behind her.

"Yeah."

"Cute girl. Do you know her?"

"No. Never met her until just now. You?"

"Well," Bill said, "the scuttlebutt is that she's the real deal. Tearing her way through training like someone else I happen to know."

Kate turned her head slightly and smiled.

"You know, Jellybean, I heard something else. Graham's on the short list. If things go his way he could be the DCI in a year, maybe two. '2000' _is_ a presidential election year, you know?

"Really," Kate said tonelessly. "So what?" It wasn't really a question.

"Well, all I'm saying is that you might want to not try so hard to piss him off. I'd rather not spend the last years of my career guarding some penguin-lovin' science dorks in Antarctica," Bill quipped.

Kate laughed. "Well, we wouldn't want to have that, would we?" She sighed loudly and turned to face him. "No day like today…?"

"No stone unturned…" Bill agreed.

Together, they made their way back to the side table to collect their gear.

* * *

"Stay back, Chuck," Sarah commanded as she reached out with her right arm to push Chuck behind her. This was complicated by the fact that Chuck was on the other side of the counter and still seemed a bit dumbstruck by her previous announcement. Mostly her fingers just waggled around in the air in front of him, but he finally got the idea and squeezed himself into the front third of the counter. As Sarah inched her way around the Nerd Herd desk, its natural curvature worked to her advantage, and she managed to interpose herself between Chuck and the other agent.

"Sarah…?" Chuck called out, his voice reflecting his confusion over what was transpiring.

"Just stay put," Sarah warned over her shoulder.

Not _just_ another agent, she thought. A former top agent who still had her name on several plaques at the Farm despite Sarah's best efforts to replace them. A lethal, accomplished operative who'd disappeared into some kind of long-term undercover mission years ago, never to emerge. Until now. Sarah reached into her waistband for the first of her throwing knives.

For all she knew, Kate O'Brien was now Fulcrum.

And even if she wasn't, Sarah mused, remembering a certain visit to Langley, she might still want to put a knife in her.

"That's not really necessary, Sarah," Kate said, her tone flat, calming. "I came here looking for John Casey, not your boy toy." At this, Chuck's scrunched forehead poked out from behind Sarah.

"I am not her boy—"

"Shut up, Chuck!" Both women ordered simultaneously. Chuck sat back contritely and closed his mouth. When Sarah turned back towards Kate she thought she saw the tiniest trace of a grin appear on the agent's face.

"Look, Sarah, I think we have a mutual acquaintance," Kate began. "Red hair? Wears lots of blue and brass? Hangs out in D.C.? Ring a bell? I'm betting it's no coincidence that you're camped out in the same shopping mall as John Casey. And judging from the rather unperturbed expression on Chuck's face there, I'm thinking both of you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Sarah pursed her lips. She added 'poker-face' to the list of things she needed to talk to Chuck about. "Even if what you say is true, you can't just waltz in here unannounced and expect us to be old friends." She squinted to give emphasis to the words 'old friends'.

Kate lowered her eyes for a moment, and when she looked up Sarah was surprised to see genuine emotion there. "I know we have baggage. We can deal with that later. But right now, time is burning away on someone's life. Someone very near to me." Kate's eyes flicked over to Chuck, who had peeked his head around Sarah again to get a better view. "I'm guessing you might have some idea what that feels like."

Sarah stared hard into Kate's dark brown eyes, sifting through what she knew, evaluating Kate's probable motives, assessing the possible risks. And feeling the tug of her unexpected emotional appeal. It was all very convincing, very seductive. _But that was __Agent O'Brien's__ specialty_, she remembered. With sudden resolve, her eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on the knife. "I'm sorry," Sarah said regretfully, "but I don't trust you."

Kate's eyes widened and she reached behind her back.

"I can vouch for Ms. O'Brien," came a voice behind her. Kate spun around to see a big man in a green Buy More shirt coming up the aisle. Casey walked to a position beside Kate and reached out his hand. "John Casey. I think you were looking for me?" With a cautious eye trained on Sarah, Kate shook his hand.

"Kate O'Brien. Thanks for your, uh… timely arrival." With Casey's presence changing the odds, Sarah relaxed her guard a few notches but stayed her ground between Kate and Chuck.

Casey looked from Kate to Sarah and back again. "Hey, I'm just about to go on break, why don't you join me and we'll grab some frozen yogurt. It's just across the mall." He looked over just in time to see Sarah snap him a hard stare.

Kate grinned and cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't you just come back from break?" She looked over to Chuck. Chuck just shrugged.

"The work schedule around here is pretty flexible." He motioned to the front of the store. "After you?" Kate smiled at him briefly, then started up the aisle, her gaze lingering on Sarah and Chuck as she left. Casey turned to follow. "You coming, Walker?"

"Yeah," Sarah replied, her eyes still following Kate as the elder agent made her way to the doors. "Give me a moment, okay?" She locked eyes with Casey for a few seconds, a silent contest of wills she won with a squint and head point. Casey flicked his eyes to Chuck, grunted and then walked off after Kate.

When Sarah turned to Chuck, he was already leaning on the counter towards her, his eyes wide and ready to spill. "Sarah!" Chuck started with a barely subdued whisper. "Do you know who she is? She's CIA… or was… I'm not sure, but I flashed! And I saw her personnel file and she has all these awards…"

Sarah held her hand up and opened her mouth to speak but Chuck would not be denied.

"…and I saw a picture of her with Graham. Graham! Did you know she knew Graham? And she was in some kind of ninja outfit too, maybe she was a kick-ass ninja girl like you, which makes sense if you look at her record, she's got like a jillion commendations …" Sarah rolled her eyes and sighed. She could only think of one way to shut him up.

Leaning forward, she reached up and grabbed the curls at the back of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss. She noticed with amusement that his lips were still trying to form words as they made contact. She knew how to fix that.

When they slowly parted again, much to her surprise, Chuck remained silent. She looked up at him with a mischievous smile, his eyes almost black from the fully open irises.

"Uh, okay. I really like your answer, but I forgot the question," he said, grinning.

"You were trying to ask me about Kate O'Brien," Sarah told him, quickly putting her index finger across his lips when it looked like he was going to start another infomercial. "I know about Kate, at least, enough for the moment. We'll talk about her later, and you can fill me in on your flash then, okay?"

Chuck nodded, very aware of Sarah's finger still on his lips.

"I'm pretty sure there's another question you want to ask me, about something I mentioned earlier?" Sarah tilted her head forward, looking at him out of the tops of her eyes. Chuck looked puzzled for a moment, but then his eyes opened wide and Sarah removed her finger so he could speak.

"Sarah, we're going to be moving in together? What… I mean, when was this decided? How did this…"

"Beckman okayed it," Sarah said carefully, "but it was my idea." She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

Chuck looked at her perplexed for several seconds, during which he seemed to be considering and then rejecting a number of different explanations. Then, much to her relief, his expression softened and he smiled. "Really?"

She broke into a huge grin. "Yeah, really. The CIA is scouting out various locations that might be appropriate, they'll send a list over to us at some point and then we can go check them out. So are you up for a field trip?"

"Uh, yeah," Chuck replied, "sure, anytime." Then something occurred to him and his puzzled look returned. "Sarah… was there some reason you decided to do this now? I mean, it just seems so out of the blue."

Sarah stared at him, struggling to hold her expression. In her mind, she saw the red and white car retreating away from her, faster than she could catch up to it. She saw the train pass by at high speed, just missing a horrifying collision with the tiny Herder. And she saw the car she thought Chuck was driving explode in a towering ball of fire – a cataclysmic moment that sucked her heart right out of her chest, leaving her gasping for air and in such pain she wished she'd died with him.

Sarah blinked her eyes to prevent from tearing up and looked at the funny animal shapes in his hair, his puckish eyebrows, those dark, soulful eyes and his tender lips. _I almost lost you__, you idiot_.

"No, no special reason," Sarah said, and forced a smile. "It just seemed a prudent course of action given the state of our cover. And with Ellie and Devon getting married in a few months we'd have to consider doing something similar anyway, don't you think?" The question lingered in the air for a moment. Sarah noticed Morgan making his way towards the counter carrying a bottle of pills and a water bottle.

"Yeah… I guess so." Chuck's eyes seemed to glaze over when he heard the word 'cover,' and Sarah smiled again to gloss over the moment.

"Look, Morgan's coming and I need to go check in with Casey and…" she couldn't bring herself to say Kate's name, "see what's going on over there, okay?" She backed away from Chuck gradually, their arms extending from interlocked hands until the growing distance forced them to separate. With a last, warm smile, she turned and walked quickly out the front of the store and on to the OO.

"Hey, Chuck!" Morgan called out. "It looks like you're feeling better." He set the aspirin and water bottle down on the countertop. "Nothing like a kiss from a beautiful girl to perk my boy right up, right?"

"Yeah…" Chuck sighed, resting his chin on his hands.

"Uh, say, Chuck, would you mind if we talked later? Now that Anna and I are back together she's been making noises about the two of us moving into an apartment again and I'm still not sure it's such a good idea."

Chuck snorted. "There's a lot of that going around," he muttered softly.

"What's that, Chuck?"

"Nothing, Morgan… Sure, we can talk later."

"Cool." Morgan stood there for a few seconds, then turned and wandered off.

Chuck stared down the main aisle of the store, a gaze that didn't stop at the sliding doors but instead extended across the parking lot to the frozen yogurt shop across the way.

* * *

"I didn't think you actually meant we were going for fro-yo," Kate said sarcastically, her eyes taking in the bold pastel décor of the Orange Orange. "I'm starting to think you're not taking my presence here very seriously."

Casey kept his eyes down, watching the star shaped stream of frozen goop wind its way around the bottom of the paper cup. "Did you say you liked Papaya flavor?"

"Green Tea, actually."

"Oh." Casey said, with a frown. "Well, I'll take this one then." He put the filled cup down and reached for a fresh one.

Kate grew exasperated. "Look. I'm not really sure what kind of Op you're running here, but the one I'm bringing is going to require a bit more pace than I'm seeing. A little more sense of urgency. I was assured by…" Kate looked around quickly to make sure no one was in earshot, "…General Beckman, your _boss_, that I'd have the full cooperation of this team. So far, I've had to wait in line at a computer repair desk, evade a knife fight with a green-eyed alum of my own agency and now I'm being forced to eat frozen dairy product in a Pinkberry clone. So I'm thinking, this is the kind of welcome that deserves an immediate, verbal report." She pulled out her cell phone.

"Just cool your jets, CIA," Casey said, flashing her a quick look as he filled her cup. "As soon as Walker gets here we'll have a serious talk about your mission. Until then," he handed her the frozen confection, "you might as well take advantage of the situation. Some of these aren't half bad." When Kate grudgingly reached out to take the cup, Casey noticed the slightly lighter bands of skin around the third finger of her left hand.

Kate saw the focus of his attention and quickly retracted the cup, folding her hand underneath to obscure the telltale marks. She took the offered spoon with her other hand, stabbing it into the pale green mixture with a tense snort. After a few seconds of digging, she delicately set the cup on the counter, and dropped her hands out of sight. Casey had the sense she was rubbing the skin where the phantom rings used to lie. He looked at her face. She probably thought she was masking her thoughts pretty well, but he'd been practicing on Walker for the last eighteen months.

"This is a good team." Casey said, almost inaudibly. Kate looked up at him, curious at his tone. He met her look with one of conviction, then glanced down to scrape the bottom of his cup for the last of his yogurt. "We'll find him." He turned and walked off to find the trash can.

Kate stared at his retreating back, the storm clouds in her eyes betraying the intense feelings swirling around the subject of her thoughts.

* * *

With a sharp shove, the two men forced the third down onto the concrete floor of the room, where he landed with a muffled thud on his behind. One of the two pulled the cowl from the third man's head, revealing a gag which was quickly untied and removed. The uncovered man blinked in the room's light, which, while not bright, was dazzling next to the utter blackness of the cowl. He looked around as if he was trying to figure out where he was, but gave up quickly when he realized the futility of the effort. He was in a basement with no windows and, aside from the thugs that brought him, he was its only occupant.

"Mr. Ramirez," Buck called out from the stairway. Robbie looked up from the floor, still squinting to see the man in black. "I wouldn't get too comfortable here," Buck said sarcastically. "We're not going to be staying very long… just until our transport's lined up." He walked down the remaining stairs and strode to where Robbie lay on the floor. "Until that time, you might make use of this." He set down a bottle of water and a Snickers bar.

Robbie waited for Buck to move back, then grabbed the bottle and tore the cap off, draining half of it in one long sip. Then he started ripping at the paper on the candy bar.

Buck watched for a few seconds, then started moving back towards the stairs. "If you need a bathroom break, you can tell that to the guard in the room with you. You will never be alone. If you behave well, you may get additional privileges. If not, well… you don't want to find that out."

"Wait," Robbie called between chews, "wait."

Buck turned around.

"How should I refer to you? You know, in case I need to…"

Buck looked him in the eye, letting the seconds drag out. "When you are talking to me directly, refer to me as 'sir'. That's all you need." Buck turned again to leave.

"I… I noticed that some of your men didn't leave the house with us… uh, _sir_."

Buck froze, his back to Robbie. Unhurriedly, he raised his hand to eye level and looked at his fingernail, picking at it with his thumb. He played a game with himself. If the geek kept his mouth shut by the time he counted to twenty, he'd reward him by keeping silent. If, on the other hand, he said anything during that time, he'd tell him why he left two of his team there. Buck started examining his other fingernails as he counted.

When Buck reached twenty and he'd heard nothing behind him, he mentally shrugged and started once more for the stairs. Just as he turned the corner and put one foot on the first tread his cell rang. He stopped and took the call. "Yeah… When? How do you know… Both? No, we're good. On schedule… Yeah." He hung up.

Buck stared directly ahead at the staircase, not really seeing the steps. Ackles and Padalecki weren't his best men, but they weren't incompetent, either. Now they were just a wasted investment. He clenched his teeth in disgust. How could they not have been able to deal with one, washed-up CIA agent?

"They're dead, aren't they?" Robbie said.

Without moving a muscle, Buck's eyes flicked to Robbie, sitting there chewing on the last bit of the candy bar. Buck stared at him coldly, his anger increasing exponentially behind his emotionless façade. With strength of purpose, he walked swiftly back to Robbie and kicked the water bottle out of his hand with such force that it cracked open against the wall. Then he drew his boot back and kicked Robbie squarely in the gut.

Robbie howled and doubled over on his side, curling around the pain in his stomach and trying to catch his breath.

"Let that be your first lesson," Buck said. "Keep your goddamn opinions to yourself. And for your second lesson…" Robbie opened his eyes although he was clearly wracked with pain. Buck waved Robbie's watch in front of his face. "The second lesson is we're not stupid. We've seen these before. And we'll be gone before they ever track us to this place."

Buck put the watch on the floor, then stood back up, raised his boot and stomped on the watch with his heel. It shattered into multiple pieces, the electronics ground together with the crystal and metal frame. Destroyed. At the sight, Robbie closed his eyes and breathed steadily, trying to ride out the pain.

With a quick glance to the standing guard, Buck turned and marched back up the stairs.

* * *

Robbie lay on his side, still curled in a fetal position around his bruised ribs. He knew he had to be more careful what he said or did around men like these or he'd suffer more abuse at their hands. But for now, for just a few seconds more, he couldn't help but smile. He even managed a shallow laugh before the stabbing pain in his ribs shut it down.

He'd heard enough of the call. He'd put the pieces together.

She'd beaten the agents left behind at the house. She'd killed them both. And if she'd managed that then there was no escaping the obvious, logical conclusion:

Kate was alive.

And while she lived there was always hope.

_A/N: __At the risk of repetition__, if you're at all curious about who I thought might play these characters if 'Unsanctioned Relationship' were actually an episode of the show, I've put some actor thumbnails on my profile page. I'll update it incrementally as new characters join the plot._


End file.
